Part 13 (1/2)

She hears a strange sound coming from outside or perhaps a mix of sounds none of which she understands except for the barking of the dogs. Her head is pounding. She pulls hard against her restraints but there is no give this time. She waits. There is nothing to do but wait.

She has learned patience on the hunt. And vigilance.

EIGHTEEN.

Cleek and Brian lug the generator down the stairs. Heavy sonovab.i.t.c.h, Brian thinks. Brian's got the top and most of the weight is at the bottom but even so. They set it down and his dad takes one more drag off the Winston dangling from his lips and tosses it away.

The woman's watching them. Giving them the evil eye.

”Make sure the extension's secure up there and then go inside and fetch your mom and Peg.”

”Can't I help?”

”You helped plenty. Go on.”

The woman's still glaring at them and his father's leaned down to flip the switch of the pressure washer's...o...b..ard storage tank of cleaning solution to the ON position so Brian takes that opportunity to pick up his dad's b.u.t.t, still smoldering, and flick it at her. It hits her in the belly and sparks fly. He grins. She continues glaring. He gathers she doesn't like him. So what.

Inside the house mom's at the sewing machine.

”Dad's ready for you,” he says.

”'I'll be finished here in just a minute.”

”He wants Peg too.”

”Well, get her.”

He goes to the stairs and yells. ”Hey Peg! Dad wants you!”

Belle's voice is angry behind him. Like she's speaking through gritted teeth.

”Brian, go up up and get her. Do not scream in my house.” and get her. Do not scream in my house.”

”Sorry,” he says.

But he isn't sorry. He's p.i.s.sed off. His sister gets to go down there while he doesn't. Why? Because he's got a p.r.i.c.k, that's why. Well so does his f.u.c.king father. And what's the big deal anyway? He's already seen pretty much all there is to see of her. Except for her a.s.s. And her c.u.n.t.

He didn't dare look that far when he was cleaning up in front of her. He knew his dad was watching. But thinking about what he didn't didn't see is making him hard again. Funny how that takes the edge off his anger. see is making him hard again. Funny how that takes the edge off his anger.

Peg's at the top of the stairs.

”What now?” she says.

She wants no part of any of this. She wants to wish it away. All of it. Maybe her entire life. But if it wasn't clear to her before it's crystal clear nowadays that wis.h.i.+ng is like praying and you had to be blind or stupid or both to do either. So she follows her mother down the stairs.

Her father is fitting a black low-pressure nozzle into the spray wand. Thank G.o.d for that at least. She's used the pressure washer on her father's car and knows that even a medium pressure nozzle has enough kick to it to bring down a low-flying bird. You don't play spray-me-with-the-garden-hose with that thing.

Her father looks up and smiles.

”There's my girls. All done, Belle?”

”Yes.”

She holds the dress out for him to see.

”Great.”

Her father produces a pocket knife and snaps open the blade and walks over to the woman chained against the wall. She can see the woman tense. She can feel herself tense. She can't for the world imagine herself in her position.

This is awful.

Her father cuts away the rag at her hips and the woman is naked. Wholly naked for the first time and she glances at the thicket between her thighs but it's only a glance. It's her face that compels her. She does not see vulnerability in that face. She's not sure what she sees. Only that the woman is looking directly into her her eyes eyes now and Peg is amazed at herself because she's able to meet and hold that gaze which is at once predatory as a hunting bird's yet open as a child's. now and Peg is amazed at herself because she's able to meet and hold that gaze which is at once predatory as a hunting bird's yet open as a child's.

The woman's nose twitches.

Her eyes move down Peg's body. To her belly.

To the mound of her belly invisible beneath the hoodie.

Impossibly, softly, she says, ”bah-bee.”

Peg flinches.

There's the urge to just G.o.dd.a.m.n run. To just get the h.e.l.l out of there. Yet she's aware that this is not an accusation, not a confrontation, nothing like that. This is not like Miss Raton today. This is something else entirely. Did she mishear it or imagine it or was there pleasure in her voice? Who and what Who and what is is this woman? this woman?

n.o.body else seems to even have noticed. Her father's walking slowly around her, inspecting her. Her mother is watching her father.

She can read her mother's expression.

Not good.

The woman's eyes are still fixed on her belly.

She's almost grateful when her father holds out the woman's filthy rag to her.

”Take that out to the burn barrel,” he says. ”Torch it, then come on back.”

”Yes.” she says. ”Okay, I will.”

Cleek looks to his wife, who is frowning, her arms crossed over her chest, hugging the dress.

”You got something on your mind, Belle?”